A Study in—(Sherlock, Stop It)
by xoKrystalMox
Summary: John knows he shouldn't. He shouldn't. He shouldn't. But he did. And now, Sherlock's on a mission to find out how many times he could make John blush. Seriously, sometimes he asks himself, why does he even stay here? Oh yes, because he's in love with a bloody git. [Johnlock, Sherlock/John, kinda pre-slash, fluff]


**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

 **Warning: This is John/Sherlock. Don't like, don't read.**

 **A/N: I was bored. Period. I was bored and I read too much Mystrade while at it. So, at the end, I ended up writing Johnlock. Makes sense? Yah, me either. xD Anyways, it was fun writing this~ So, I hope you guys like it too. :D Enjoy! Do let me know what you guys thought along the way~! -Krystal**

* * *

 **A Study in—(Sherlock, Stop It.)**

* * *

John knew he should've kept his emotions in check. He knew he should've kept his pretence in check. He knew that if one lives with the brilliant Sherlock Holmes, they were doomed to have their secrets splashed on the front page news—all secrets but John's of course.

Why?

Because John had mastered the technique to keep Sherlock from deducing him to the world and it was a technique he had learned immediately from the first week he stayed with the man. It wasn't that Sherlock's deductions weren't amazing because if anybody asked John how he felt about Sherlock's ability even when it was aimed at him, he would immediately reply without hesitation that it was bloody amazing.

Sure, every time John praises him, certain someone's ego would inflate as big as Mount. Everest.

But it was fine.

Yes, it was fine.

It was just the thought of getting deduced for _this_ that John wasn't ready for. So, he quickly mastered the technique and used it to his advantage. He was now keeping more than two secrets at a time thanks to his great ability. Well, not so great but hell, John was proud of it so there.

But of course, nobody was perfect and this included John H. Watson.

And honestly, John thought, it was indeed a bloody bad day to become the 'imperfect because we are only human' thing. It was bad timing, honestly.

It started this morning. John had woken up with a loud yawn before padding down the stairs and heading to the kitchen for his usual morning tea (after he washed up of course). He had a late night at the clinic yesterday and he wanted nothing more but to grab his hot tea and walk right back upstairs to his room where his lovely, comfortable bed waited for him.

Of course, this also meant that John wasn't completely aware of his surroundings.

Sure, he was an ex-army doctor but even he had days where he wasn't completely awake.

Today was one of those days.

 _Unfortunately_.

Indeed unfortunately, because today John had failed to realise that Sherlock was already awake and strolling around in the living room, working on a case (Sherlock never really slept yesterday night). John had turned on the kettle and waited at the counter for the water to boil, occasionally blinking to get rid of the strains near his eyes.

Once the water was boiled, he grabbed onto his mug and poured the hot water in before looking for the tea powder. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion when he couldn't find them. Opening the cabinets, he groaned to himself when he saw the tea powder sitting high up on the shelf.

 _Sherlock_ , his mind muttered.

He sighed as he reached out to grab it only to fall back on his feet when he couldn't. Just then, a warm presence appeared behind him, a long arm extended out and took the tea powder for him. Placing it on the counter next to John, Sherlock huffed out in annoyance.

John froze.

His eyes widened at the close proximity between him and Sherlock, realising now that the detective was awake. "Honestly, John," Sherlock muttered. "Could you please be quiet? I'm trying to think."

John's heart hammered against his chest as he gulped, his shoulders tensing. His mind went blank and his sudden gift to hide his reactions about Sherlock's lack of personal space vaporised. "Sherlock," John said quietly before grabbing onto the tea powder, forcing himself to relax and knowing his face was red.

"John?" Sherlock questioned before he left John's back to stand next to him. John kept his eyes trained on the mug as he mixed the powder into the water. He took in a deep breath before he looked at Sherlock. He groaned mentally when he noted the _look_ from Sherlock.

There it was—he was getting deduced. "What?" John asked defensively and gave himself a mental slap for that. Sherlock raised his eyebrows before his eyes glazed.

"Hmm," Sherlock said before he turned around, his bathrobe dramatically swishing behind him before he walked out. "Be quiet, John! I have a case to solve!" Sherlock hollered over his shoulder and John forced himself to take in another breath.

He touched his chest and blinked, wondering if Sherlock had noticed the look on his face.

 _Of course he did, John!_ His mind was unhappy with him at the moment.

Of course Sherlock noticed. It was him, for God's sakes.

But Sherlock didn't do anything or say anything and that made John curious.

He cautiously made his tea and walked out to the living room, noticing Sherlock laying on the couch and closing his eyes, his limbs tangled carelessly around him. John cleared his throat, trying to catch the detective's attention, however Sherlock didn't move. "I'm heading upstairs."

Sherlock didn't react.

 _Hm_ , John thought. He carefully went back upstairs into his room.

Suddenly, he didn't feel like sleeping.

* * *

John was cautious for the next three days. He made sure he kept his walls up and his emotions in check. He knew that look from his flatmate at the kitchen three days ago meant he would be up to no good in no time. John wasn't going to risk being found out.

He was determined to keep his feelings inside, locked up and safe where it forever will be.

He sighed to himself as he sat on his armchair. He took his freshly made tea and sipped on the rim of the cup, leaning into his comfortable yet slightly worn out armchair. Sherlock wasn't around at the moment, he noted dully in his mind.

They had solved the case two days ago. Sherlock had bounced up on his feet all of a sudden while they were eating dinner at Angelo's (when John said 'they' were eating dinner, he really meant 'he' was eating dinner and Sherlock was busy rambling his deductions for John to understand) and proclaimed that yes, it was indeed the brother who did it!

Without waiting for John, he quickly grabbed onto his coat and rushed out. John scrambled after him, wondering why he even bothered sometimes. Oh yeah, he knew why.

After that, John went to his bedroom and slumped face first on the bed with a tired groan. Sherlock went to play his violin. Now, he was not in the flat and John wondered briefly where the detective could've gone to.

John looked around the living room before he spotted his laptop on the desk. Rolling his eyes, he got up from his armchair and headed to the desk. Then, suddenly, the front door slammed closed and Sherlock was bouncing up the stairs, yelling a loud 'John!' once he spotted him. John gave himself credit that he didn't sputter out like a startled idiot, despite being startled.

"Sherlock," John said, giving him a disapproval look. He then proceeded to walk back to the armchair. "Where've you been? You weren't here when I was back from the clinic."

Sherlock simply took out his coat and gloves, flicking his wrist dismissively. "I have a new experiment to conduct, John!" he said sounding curious and excited at the same time. He walked up to his own armchair which was placed opposite of John and sat down, his legs tucked under his chin.

John tried to calm himself down. No, the experiment wasn't about what happened three days ago, right? He risked a glance at Sherlock and mentally catalogued that something in him did not believe his lies. It seemed that yes, the experiment was about him.

"I see," John said slowly as he turned his laptop on. "I hope there won't be any more human body parts in the fridge then. Or—animal parts," John quickly added as he gave Sherlock a pointed gaze. The detective simply clicked his tongue and settled into his armchair better.

"Not at the present moment," Sherlock said, his voice now sounded distant. "It seemed that another experiment took my interest."

John hummed out before typing in his blog address. He knew that voice, it was when Sherlock decided to venture into his Mind Palace. He relaxed into his armchair when he realised that the detective wasn't looking at him and decided to type out the case.

Well, he only managed to concentrate for thirty minutes when indeed, Sherlock started to stare. _At_ _him_.

"What?" John gritted out as he kept his eyes glued at the screen.

Suddenly, Sherlock bounced up from the chair and walked up to John. He, then, picked the laptop away from the shorter man's grasp and placed it on the ground.

"Sherlock?" John asked, quite irritated that he couldn't finish his post and slightly flustered at the concentrated gaze on him. "What in the world are you doing?"

The detective gave him a smile and John immediately steeled every fibre in his body from reacting at the charming look. Just then, Sherlock placed both of his hands at either side of the armchair and leaned in close, almost taking away John's personal space.

The ex-army doctor immediately backed away, his head hitting the cushion of the armchair and his eyes widened. "Sherlock!" John said as he placed his hands to his sides, urging himself to calm down. "What the hell are you doing?"

"It seems that I need your opinion on something, John," Sherlock said but his voice sounded distant and his eyes seemed to train on John's face. The doctor's heart started to beat loudly in his chest at the close proximity and he wondered for a moment why he was being treated this way.

So close and yet so far.

But the question was never asked and John was trying his best not to blush.

Too bad, he couldn't control his biological needs and at the end, blushed with his heart hammering against his chest and his breath quickening. Sherlock immediately backed away, pacing around the room. John blinked a few times, trying to breathe in properly before he gritted his teeth and glared at the detective.

"Sherlock!" he hollered, the detective stopped pacing and looked at him. "A bit not good."

"No?" Sherlock said, tilting his head to the side.

"No!" John said, getting up. "What the hell was that for? Privacy, ring a bell somewhere in your brain, Sherlock? Or have you deleted it?"

"Privacy," Sherlock muttered. "Rings a bell. Must've been irrelevant. Oh, _what_?"

John simply huffed out before he grabbed onto his laptop and stormed up to his bedroom. Slamming the door shut, he then realised what Sherlock did.

That bloody git.

He set John up!

Now by reacting this way, it would have confirmed something to Sherlock. He groaned loudly as he slammed his laptop shut and sat at the edge of his bed. He rubbed his face as he tossed his laptop to his side.

Being in love with Sherlock was a lot of work, hiding it was even harder.

John slumped on his back and stared at the ceiling. How had he fallen in love with such a meanie? Meanie, god, Sherlock wasn't that mean. He wasn't that cold either. It was just his ways of getting information were slightly unorthodox.

But this, John wasn't ready for this to be out in the open.

He was sure the detective would dismiss it and tell him that no, his Work came first and he couldn't afford to be distracted. That would crush the blond man. It would. Sure, he cared about the doctor, John had seen his caring first hand, when he died. But that didn't mean Sherlock cared about him _that_ way.

Not the way John cared for him.

But it was alright, as long as he didn't let Sherlock know about his feelings, it was all fine.

He doubted that would last long now.

It was a matter of time before his secret got out.

* * *

There wasn't any weird behaviour from the detective for the past two days. John was still on high alert after that little stunt in the living room but Sherlock seemed to be no long interested to continue tormenting the doctor—much to John's relief.

After that, a week had passed and finally, John relaxed and forgot all about the incident.

And that was when Sherlock struck again. Well, not really. It was actually John's fault this time. But still.

John was running after the criminal while Sherlock was two steps ahead of him. However, his age wasn't helping him much at the moment and he was soon panting for air. He had to stop a moment to catch his breath. Sherlock then stopped running a second later when he noticed that the doctor wasn't following him, quickly turning around to look at him.

He then groaned and hurried to the doctor. "Oh for the love of! Hurry up, John!"

"I—You—Wait!" John didn't have time to pant out his words when Sherlock grabbed onto his right hand and proceeded to drag him away.

"The criminal mustn't get lost, John!" Sherlock hollered. "Hurry along!"

At the end, they got the criminal and John was gasping for air, trying to settle down his rapid heartbeat while leaning against the brick walls, his legs almost giving out from exhaustion. Sherlock, on the other hand, was busy showing off his deductions to Lestrade before the case was deemed closed. The detective then turned around to look at John.

"John?" he questioned as he hurried to the doctor.

"Just a moment, Sherlock," John said as he tried to calm his beating heart. Sherlock stared at him for a while until John finally nodded. Standing up straighter, he was about to take a step forward when his knees buckled forward and he fell.

What he didn't expect was for Sherlock to wrap his hands around his shoulders and haul him back up against the wall. His hand gripped onto John's shoulders tightly, his eyes now serious and maybe slightly worried. "John?"

The blond man took a few seconds before he realised how close they were. His eyes widened at the position they were in and cleared his throat, feeling his face redden. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the doctor before he took a step back, letting John go. Somehow, the doctor felt disappointed at the loss of warmth.

"I'm fine," John said before he nodded. "Let's go home."

Sherlock didn't say anything on the matter and followed the doctor.

The ride back home was quiet and Sherlock was staring out of the window. John knew he was thinking—but what about? Could it be about the murderer? But the case was closed, wasn't it? Once arrived to Baker Street, the ex-army doctor paid for the taxi and walked out of the vehicle, heading to the front door. Sherlock then immediately bounced in, grabbing onto John's shoulders.

"S—Sherlock?" John questioned in surprise as the detective manoeuvred him to the armchair.

"Sit down, John!" Sherlock said and John felt his heart beating fast at the gentleness in the voice. John was forced to sit down on his armchair and Sherlock took this opportunity to lean in close once more, crowding John's personal space. Oh for God's sakes. "I will make you a cuppa. Do you need anything else?"

"Eh—uh," John said and Sherlock took that as a 'no, I don't but thank you, Sherlock' and catalogued his reactions close. With that, he walked to the kitchen.

John didn't know what in the world happened but then, Sherlock offering to make tea wasn't an everyday thing, so he kept quiet and took the cup of tea when it was handed to him. This tea was bloody good.

"You should make tea often," John said and Sherlock simply flicked his wrist, his eyes trained on John.

"Boring."

* * *

He was being deduced. John knew it. Sherlock had been paying close attention to him all week. John tried his best to keep all reactions to himself. He made sure he wouldn't blush and he made sure he'd see the light directly for a second before looking at Sherlock, just to keep his pupils normal.

It was getting tiring to hide these feelings from the taller man.

He sighed internally as they walked to Angelo's. It was a cold night but not too cold for these two boys. Sherlock was quiet next to him and John was thankful for being able to get out of the flat. He didn't need another second of that staring. He might end up blowing up—literally.

Once they were in the restaurant, they took their normal table near the windows and sat down. Sherlock was skimming through the menu and John simply had decided on what to eat on the way here. "You're eating tonight, right?" John asked as Sherlock gazed up to him and scowled.

"Yes, John, I am eating," he said. "Despite it being so very tedious."

"Good," John murmured satisfied as he got up. "Washroom."

Sherlock simply hummed out a response as John walked away. A few steps forward, a woman accidentally tripped on her shoe and fell on John. The blond-haired man immediately caught her before assuring her that she was alright. She was literally crowding his personal space and he was getting tad uncomfortable with the way she trying to get her bosom to his face.

"Uhm, right," John said as he took a step back. "Good then. Have a nice night, ma'am."

He then scurried away to the bathroom, not noticing that a certain detective was staring at him from behind the menu.

When John had sat down again, Sherlock had decided what to eat. "She's single," Sherlock said as he looked at John. The ex-army doctor looked at the detective and frowned.

"Who?"

"Her," Sherlock said. "The woman who fell on you. She was single and she didn't seem to have tragic strings of love affairs."

John looked back at where the woman fell on him and shrugged the thought off. "That's nice."

"Nice?" Sherlock tested the word out. "I believe she was your—type."

"My type?" John asked, sounding confused. "Well, I wasn't really interested in her, I suppose."

"And why is that?" Sherlock asked but this time, it sounded as if he was asking himself. "You usually took the first opportunity you get to go out on a date with a beautiful woman and yet, when there is that chance, you didn't take it. Why?"

"Sherlock," John said sounding annoyed. "Can we please just eat and go home?"

Sherlock quietened down but John knew he was still thinking about it. His heart yammered nervously against his chest, realising that Sherlock was close to the answer. He ate his food quietly that night as Sherlock didn't bring the question up again.

Once they went back home, Sherlock made a beeline for the violin.

John simply sighed before he went to his room, closing the room door and slumping against it.

* * *

"Excuse me?" John asked the man, blinking and looking around him before looking at the bloke. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I was just wondering if you'd like to get a cup of coffee with me," the man said, his green eyes shimmering in hope. John wondered for a second where this man came from. He was good looking, John guessed but really—he didn't swing that way.

Despite him being in love with Sherlock, he wasn't interested in other men that way.

"I'm sorry but—"

"Please?" the man said as he leaned in close to John.

"No," John said quickly. He didn't feel the butterflies in his stomach and he didn't feel his mind growing blank when anyone else besides Sherlock crowded his personal space. "I'm sorry. I'm not gay."

The man frowned before he nodded, standing up. "Sorry then." With that, the man walked out of the café and John rubbed his face. That was certainly unexpected of him. After a few minutes, Sherlock walked into the café, huffing out. He then walked to John and sat down in front of him.

"I found the lead to the murderer," he said, his almost grey eyes glistening from the adrenaline. John smiled at him before he nodded, standing up.

"Let's go and arrest him," John said and Sherlock stood up as well. Just as John was about to walk away, Sherlock had grabbed onto his elbow and halted him. Sherlock then leaned in close to John and observed him. The shorter man's heart immediately picked up speed as he tried to take a step back from the close proximity.

"You don't look flustered when he did it," Sherlock said to himself and John's eyes widened at the words. His face flushed red and Sherlock blinked at the look. He then took a step back and looked away. "The murderer is two blocks down." Sherlock then walked out of the café, leaving a dumbfounded John.

What in the world happened?

What the hell was that?

Just then, his phone beeped. Looking at the message, he sighed and rubbed his face when he read it.

 _John, stop acting obtuse and hurry up. The murderer is getting away –SH_

Tucking the phone into his coat, he decided to forgone the thoughts at the moment and followed Sherlock. The case first—whatever else later.

* * *

The final straw of Sherlock's insensitive behaviour was when John had woken up from a nightmare and had padded downstairs for a cup of tea. What he didn't expect was a naked Sherlock walking around the living room, giving him a near miss heart attack.

"Sherlock!" he growled out, immediately trying to keep his face neutral and his eyes above waist. " _What_ the _fuck_ are you _doing_?"

"Ah, John," Sherlock said as he stood in front of the doctor. "A cuppa please. Thank you."

"A cuppa—Sherlock, why in the bloody world are you walking around naked?" John asked. "Is it 'Let's Go Nude' Day or something as sorts that I didn't know about?"

Sherlock simply scoffed at John as if the blond-man didn't know what was up yet. "Oh, John, don't be an idiot. Of course not!"

"Then—why?" John asked.

He guessed he knew the answer.

"For you, John," Sherlock said finally, looking at John blankly. "It is for you."

John took a few seconds to process the words before he said, "For me? You did this—for _me_?" he asked dumbfounded. "Sherlock, put on some clothes." With that, he stormed into the kitchen for a hot tea.

"But John—"

"Clothes, Sherlock! _Now_." John didn't want to deal with him at the moment. He _heard_ Sherlock's eye roll even when he couldn't see him and make out the man walking up to his bedroom. After a few minutes, Sherlock came down with his bathrobe, glaring at the doctor.

"What is the problem, John?" Sherlock asked as he furrowed his eyebrows. "My deductions indicated that you would find me naked a pleasant image."

John's face reddened.

He turned around to glare at the man. "And why would that be?"

Sherlock thinned his lips before he crossed his arms. "John, I believe I have found the answer to why you were acting so weird for the past few weeks."

"Oh, have you?" John asked dryly. He knew where this was going and he knew it wasn't going to end well. He just knew it. "And what's that, Sherlock?"

The detective didn't pick up on the threat in the doctor's voice and if he did, John guessed he ignored it. "I have noticed that you blush every single time I seemed to evade your personal space. At first, it didn't intrigue me because it is normal for people to be flustered when someone invades their personal space more often than not," Sherlock said and John could practically hear the word 'people' being said so—blandly. "However, when you are placed in close proximity of others, you either tend to take a step back or get annoyed. The woman at Angelo's didn't intrigue you and the man at the café annoyed you. Yet, why is it when I do it, you tend to blush?"

John knew that those people had something to do with this. Sherlock walked closer to John until he was standing in front of him. John tried to keep some distance between them but at the end, his back hit the counter and he had no place to go. Sherlock eyed him before he continued his deductions. "Then, I noticed, your pupils dilate every time I am close and your breathing rate is quicker and shallower. Of course, that could mean anything. But then, I noticed the way you look at me, filled with emotions and—care."

John flinched at the words, looking away as he felt his heart skipping a beat. He closed his eyes as Sherlock took in a deep breath, rattling off his conclusions. "And thus, after I gathered that you also didn't seem to be paying attention romantically to any potential suitors but gave me all your attention, I have concluded that you—John Watson—fancy me."

Ah, God.

"But what type of fancy are we talking about?" Sherlock said. "It could be physical for that matter. But you don't react the way someone found another man physically attractive. No, you have always been an emotional-type of man, haven't you, John? At the end, eliminating all the other possibilities and the remaining one no matter how improbable must be the truth, I have come to the conclusion that you are in love with me. Am I not right, John?"

There was smugness in his voice. John felt his hopes shattering to the ground at the thought that this was all a game, a puzzle to the man. He opened his eyes and looked at Sherlock, feeling broken and worn out. Sherlock eyed him for a second before a frown worked on his lips. "Yes," John said finally, sounding hollow. "Yes, you're right, Sherlock. As usual. Why I'm not surprised? I know that I shouldn't have tried to hide it. It'll be useless. You'll find out and shove it into my face."

"John—"

"Congratulations, Sherlock!" John finally exclaimed and pushed past the detective to get his coat. "I hope you're happy now. Yes, John Watson, the man who has to fall in love with an emotionless git. You're right, absolutely."

Sherlock followed him to the living room, watching John take his coat and wearing it. "Where are you going?" he asked and John simply sighed.

"Out," John said. "I need to think."

With that, John walked out of the flat, leaving a confused Sherlock at wake.

* * *

John had a lot of time to think about what he was going to do once he got back home. He knew Sherlock knew now about his feelings but what did that really meant for the doctor? John could simply move out and leave Sherlock to his own devices but that thought didn't settle well for him.

Sherlock had changed his life and he didn't mind staying next to him even if his feelings weren't returned. He liked staying with the detective even if he was a git sometimes. He didn't have any hope that his feelings could be returned in the first place.

It was highly unlikely.

Sherlock was a man of Work.

He was married to it.

John was just a side-long affair.

He sighed as he finally walked into his flat, taking off his coat as he walked up the stairs. He spotted Sherlock at the armchair once he walked in. John took in a deep breath and finally decided to get this over with. "Tea?" John asked as Sherlock opened his eyes to look at him.

Sherlock didn't say anything as John walked to the kitchen to make his tea. Then, he heard the detective moving about and before he knew it, Sherlock stood at the kitchen entrance. "John," he started. "You are upset."

"Am I?" John hummed out, taking out the cups.

"John."

The blond-haired man sighed before he turned to look at the taller man. "Sherlock," he said.

"You do not believe I am capable of returning those—affections," Sherlock concluded as his eyes narrowed at the man.

John looked away before he sighed. "I don't expect anything more than friendship, Sherlock. You're my best friend. It's alright. Just—forget about it. I'll try and move on."

Sherlock however didn't like the idea of John moving on. Before John could turn around, he grabbed onto the man's hand and kept him in place. Then, Sherlock crowded his personal space until John's back hit the counter. "Sherlock?"

The detective suddenly grabbed onto his shoulders. John tensed at the sudden physical touch and looked at Sherlock in the eyes. The detective then lowered his head until his forehead was touching John's. The doctor's breath hitched at the closeness, his mind steadily blanking and his face turning red.

"Look at me, John," Sherlock whispered under his breath. "Observe and deduce me."

John didn't know what the detective was trying to do but he did as what he told. He then began to see what Sherlock meant. His eyes were dilated and his pulse—John gingerly touched Sherlock's right hand and searched for his pulse. It was fast and it almost matched his pulse.

John's eyes widened when he looked at the detective. And then—he saw it.

Sherlock was _blushing_.

"You did this to me, John," Sherlock said. "You made me like this. You have to take the responsibility. So, no, John. I will not forget it."

John was gaping as he searched Sherlock's face. His heart was beating loudly against his chest and he felt the tiny sparks of hope gathering in his heart. "What about—Sherlock, are you saying you feel the same way? What about your Work?"

Sherlock huffed before he straightened himself. "John, have you not figured it out yet?" he asked, using that tone to indicate that the solution was so obvious and yet the doctor couldn't understand it. John simply stared at him slightly confused. Sherlock however noticed the look and then scoffed dramatically. "John, you have been involved in my Work since the beginning. Didn't I tell you I consider myself married to my Work?"

John took that moment to really get the picture before he took in a sharp breath. "I—You consider us married?"

"John, I am surprised it took you this long to figure it out," Sherlock said dryly.

"Sherlock," John said as he took a step forward. "Does this mean you—love me too? I thought you didn't do sentiment or emotions."

"And yet I faked my death to keep you safe," Sherlock said sarcastically. John flinched at the words and the still horrible memory. Sherlock thinned his lips at that. "Sorry." John sighed and nodded at him. "But yes, John," he continued silently. "I conducted this experiment because I had thought you were simply having a normal biological response when someone invades your privacy. I did not want to—hope—that you have felt the same way. Apparently, at the end, it was conclusive that indeed you return my—feelings."

John took it all in before he felt his heart brightening at the words. Sherlock liked him back! He didn't think this day would ever come but here he was—apparently about to receive affections from a man who didn't do sentiments or emotions. It made John felt—special. He couldn't help but to chuckle, smiling widely at the detective. Sherlock looked at him before he smiled back at John. "God, you dim-witted man," John said and Sherlock immediately scowled, his smile disappearing. John chuckled again, knowing Sherlock hated to be called anything less than a genius. "If anyone else invades my privacy like how you did, I would've showed them my fist. Maybe not to the women, but Sherlock, I wouldn't just blush at everyone who comes near ten feet radius to me."

"And yet when I am near, you tend to do so," Sherlock mused. His eyes were clearly bright and shimmering in pride.

John took a step forward and grinned. "Well, you've always been the special one in my life, Sherlock. You'll continue to be the special one."

Sherlock nodded, seemingly satisfied with it. "John," he said after a minute, suddenly looking slightly shy. "As to clear any misunderstandings, so you know, the sentiment is reciprocated."

John nodded, feeling lighter than he had ever been since in a while. "Thanks."

Sherlock simply nodded once more, seemingly relieved at the turn of events before he turned around and walked out of the kitchen. John shook his head as the fond smile stuck on his face. The weird atmosphere from weeks before disappeared immediately, leaving the cool and calm atmosphere behind. John took in a deep breath before he went ahead with his original plan from before, making tea, his bad mood already leaving.

"Tea, Sherlock?"

There was a clutter at the living room before Sherlock entered the kitchen with a grin on his face. Oh, John knew that look.

"No time, John! Grab your coat, we have a new case! An interesting one!"

With that, he disappeared and John sighed. Looking at the empty cup, he walked out and grabbed onto his coat. Sherlock wrapped his scarf around his neck and flicked the collar of his coat upwards. Catching John's eyes, he gave him a smile and walked out.

John shook his head as he followed, his heart feeling brighter than it ever did.

He guessed it wasn't so bad being with the detective after all.

"Oh, John!" Sherlock said before turning around, catching John off guard at the stairs. "I almost forgot." John raised his eyebrows and before he could react, Sherlock kissed his cheek and continued to jog down the stairs leaving a slightly stunned John.

The doctor blinked as he gently touched his cheek.

His face reddened and a smile crept on his lips. He stared at Sherlock who had reached the front door, opening it wide. The detective noticed the lack of his blogger and looked back at John, sighing exasperatedly. "John! Snap out of it! The case is waiting! The game is afoot!"

"U-uh, yeah, coming!" John said as he shook his head from the thoughts and ignored his red face. With that, he followed Sherlock out, a smile stuck on his face for the rest of the day—and maybe even forever to come.

Yes, being with the World's only consulting detective was not bad at all.

* * *

 **The End**


End file.
